


Momentum

by lamardeuse



Series: The Declarative Case [5]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis was spending far too much time thinking about putting his hands on James' skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Momentum

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to Dorothy for fantastic beta and Brit-pick. Any remaining errors are mine.

 

 

 

Lewis was spending far too much time thinking about putting his hands on James' skin.

If someone had told him two months ago that he'd be yearning to touch Hathaway, Lewis would have thought them completely round the bend. And yet here he was on a warm July day, watching James run with the lads as they warmed up for rugby, his laughter ringing out across the pitch, and he wanted – well. He _wanted._

James had been off the force nearly three weeks now, after wrapping up a heartbreaking investigation that probably would be ruled accidental death. Whether or not that was the truth of it – luckily, that wasn't a matter either of them would have decided, even when they’d been coppers. Lewis knew the case had affected James more than he'd admit, but true to form they hadn't discussed it.

Beyond that, there was no question that ending a career that had lasted nearly a decade was going to be emotional under any circumstances. Even though he'd doubtless been planning to leave for longer than Lewis had been aware of it, it took time to adjust to that sort of change. And that was why, despite what Robbie may have surprised himself with wanting, he was giving the lad as much time as he needed to work through it.

They still hadn't done any more than kiss. Since the night James cracked the case, Lewis hadn't slept in James' bed, and things had cooled off a bit all around. They still saw one another regularly, but there was less snogging on the couch and more nights down the pub and days with James' lads from the youth centre, who were proving easier to work with than Lewis had reckoned. They'd started off completely ignorant of the rules of rugby, but they'd responded surprisingly well to Lewis' direction.

“Oi!” Lewis called, waving the knot of runners to a halt as they came round again. “That's enough. It's getting too blooming hot for this; let's start our exercises.”

There were a couple of groans from the assembled throng. “Why don't we just start playing instead?” Cyril said. He was a cheeky one, but mostly harmless – the class clown. Not surprisingly, he and James got along like a house afire.

“I know it's hard to credit because you're all invincible –” a couple of chuckles “– but believe it or not, even you supermen can get injured on the pitch. And if we can prevent some of those injuries by stretching and practicing throws for a few minutes, then it would be stupid not to.” Lewis caught James' eye, and he saw the openly admiring look on the lad's face.

Turning away and clearing his throat, he said, “All right, then, let's start with leg stretches, yeah? Like the ones I showed you last time.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lewis was sweating buckets by the time their practice was done for the day. It was one thing to keep up with these young bucks on a regular English summer's day, but this one had been the hottest yet this year, and he'd gone through what felt like a gallon of water – and insisted the boys do the same – to keep from keeling over from heat stroke. As he walked off the pitch, he took one more drink from his bottle and poured the last bit over his face.

“Are you okay?” Lewis startled at the sound of James' voice beside him; the last he'd seen, he was still talking to a couple of the lads.

“As okay as I can be in this bloody heat,” Lewis groused.

“I'm sorry. I should have called off the practice.”

“Go away with you. I know how to take care of meself.” To demonstrate, he held up the now-empty water bottle. “Went through five of these today.”

“Six,” James corrected. At Lewis' sharp look, he shrugged. “I might have been checking.”

“No wonder you missed that foul play at the end of the second half,” Lewis muttered. “Look, I'm not so decrepit yet that I need a minder.”

“I know that,” James said patiently. “But I got you into this, and I feel – responsible.”

Lewis cast a glance at James. His fair skin was as flushed as Lewis' doubtless was, and there was a fine sheen of sweat all over him, making his skin almost glow. While Lewis had done well to avoid gawping at James during the practice this afternoon, it was a bit hard to exercise the same self-discipline when the lad was right there beside him, looking for all the world like he'd just – like they'd just –

Oh, hell, fine, so Lewis had thought about it, thought about how James would look and sound and move if Lewis touched him. He'd thought about the lad smiling and joyous, the way he'd been at the start of this when he realised Lewis wasn't rejecting him. He wanted to have that effect on someone again, and he didn't want to wait for whatever it was James had decided to wait for.

Lewis had never considered himself a horny old goat, but he was beginning to wonder.

“For the last time, I'm fine. Stop fussing.”

James ducked his head as they walked on. “Got any plans for tonight?”

“Sitting with my arse in a cool bath?”

James' eyes widened. “Well, I don't know that I can compete with that. Thought I'd make you dinner.”

“I hope it's cold sandwiches and beer.”

James smiled. “Cold sandwiches, salad and beer, actually.”

“I'll be there,” Lewis promised.

“Thought you could explain more of the game to me. That offside ruling you made early on – I didn't understand it.”

“Mmm,” Lewis said, tamping down his disappointment. Well, it was probably too hot for anything more exciting anyway. Beer and a lesson on the finer points of rugby was about all the night was fit for.

It made sense that they should take things slowly, Lewis told himself. They'd both gone through huge changes in the last few weeks, and it was best not to rush things.

Beside him, James peeled off his shirt and wiped his face with the only corner of it that was still dry. Lewis swallowed, but his mouth was suddenly parched and he coughed instead.

James turned to him, concerned. “Are you all right?”

Lewis glared at him before tearing his gaze away. “Don't start that again.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“No, no, that's not it,” Lewis said, using the touch pad on James' computer to pause the video, then move the start point back a few seconds. “Watch the player in the lower right hand corner.”

He pressed play again, and James peered at the screen for a couple of moments before his eyes lit up. “Oh, I see it! He made a forward pass.”

“Barely, but yeah,” Lewis said. “Enough for it to count against them.”

James closed the computer and set it on the table beside him, then leaned back on the teak bench. His flat had a tiny back garden, not much to look at even in summer, but the air was moving here and it was hot as a blooming oven indoors. “And here I thought rugby was just a mob of burly louts knocking the seven bells out of one another. I mean, there's a referee hand sign for 'bleeding wound', for heaven's sake. But it's more than that.”

Lewis snorted. “Barely. But then, not all sports can be as civilised as rowing.”

“Clearly you haven't met a lot of rowers,” James said drily.

Lewis turned towards him, rising shamelessly to the bait. “Oh, you have some juicy stories to tell after all?”

“Sadly, I wasn't one of the bad boys.” The twinkle in James' eyes made Lewis' stomach clench, not at all unpleasantly. He watched as James' smile faded, his gaze searching Lewis' face.

Then James cleared his throat and looked away. He took a long drink of his beer, then stood abruptly. “You ready for another?”

Lewis eyed his bottle. “Not yet, thanks. I suppose I'd best be getting home soon anyway. You'll want to be studying.” Even though his first courses didn't begin for another month and a half, James had already started boning up on some of the texts he'd be using in the autumn. Lewis knew he was nervous – it'd been some time since he'd been at uni, and social work was a bit of a change from philosophy and Latin. He wanted to reassure the lad, but he wasn't quite sure how James would take it. After all, it wasn't as though Lewis could offer advice on getting your bloody master's degree.

“Oh,” James said. “Well, I suppose – it was a tiring day.”

Frowning slightly, Lewis rose to his feet. He'd always been crap at reading signals from girls when he'd last dated back in the Stone Age, and it wasn't turning out to be any easier with another bloke. Was James acquiescing because he thought that was Lewis' choice, or did James actually want him to go? He'd been counting on James to take the lead, like he'd been doing since the beginning, but now everything seemed to have ground to a halt, and he didn't know how to get it going again.

“Yeah, it was, a bit,” Robbie heard himself say. “Goodnight, lad.” Still unsure of himself, he reached up, his hand sliding to James' chest and staying there for an awkward, frozen moment. James leaned in and kissed him, almost dutifully, and was pulling away before Lewis could properly reciprocate.

When he got home, it was a long time before he could sleep. He blamed it on the heat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Really, the pair of you are hopeless,” Laura opined, sighing.

Lewis bristled. “Oi, you offered to 'lend a sympathetic ear.'”

“That was before I realised you were both being completely thick,” she shot back, taking a sip of her – well, Lewis didn't exactly know what she was drinking, only that it was bluish in colour and was mostly ice. It was nearly as hot as it had been the day before, so they'd opted for the blessedly shaded beer garden out back of the pub, which was crowded with thirsty refugees from the day. “For heaven's sake, have you ever heard of verbal communication? I know you have, I hear it's quite useful in detective work.”

“Oh, now, that's just hurtful.”

“Answer the question.”

Lewis flapped a hand. “We haven't talked about it, no. I reckoned it was best to let him be in charge of – you know, this. He knows what he's doing better than I do.”

“Did he actually tell you that? Because if he did, he's lying.”

Lewis frowned. “What? And no, he didn't. But I thought –”

“You thought he was experienced with men?” Laura shook her head. “He's not, Robbie. Not really.”

“I'm a little disturbed that you know this much about him,” Lewis managed, covering his embarrassment with a long sip of his beer.

“It took several gallons of alcohol, believe me. Our James doesn't reveal his secrets easily.” Laura leaned closer. “And I shouldn't be betraying his confidences, even to you. Best you learn about one another the old-fashioned way: by actually bloody talking.”

Lewis stared at his beer. “I'm not so sure that he – well.” He thought about the tepid kiss of the night before. “Maybe he's changed his mind.”

Laura's eyes widened. “That's what you've deduced? That he's _gone off_ you?” Lewis opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Laura continued, exasperation clear, “You silly sod, he's wanted you for yonks. He'd be as likely to change his mind as he would be to flap his arms and fly to the moon.”

“Wanting and having are two different things,” Lewis muttered into his glass.

Laura arched an eyebrow. “From the way you were describing your problem earlier, I got the impression there hadn't been much 'having' going on. Was I wrong?”

Lewis was sure he was the colour of an overripe tomato at this point. “Bloody hell, Laura.” Laura's eyebrow only climbed higher. “All right, no. No, you weren't wrong.”

“Robbie,” she said, more kindly, “I will tell you this: I think James always expected rejection. For all his grand plans – and yes, I believe there were flowcharts involved –” Lewis chuckled “– I doubt he had a path labeled 'Robbie says yes'.”

“So what you're telling me is that neither of us knows what to do next,” Lewis said.

“Possibly. Or possibly he's concerned you're the one who's more likely to go off him.”

Lewis nodded slowly. That made sense, considering James' reluctance to move things along too quickly once he'd tipped his hand. “I suppose it's past time for me to declare my intentions, then.”

Laura smiled at him fondly. “That's the spirit.”

Lewis finished his beer. “Can I get you another?”

Laura shook her head. “Thanks, but my lad is taking me to dinner tonight.”

“He makes you happy, doesn't he?”

Laura smiled. “Does it show?”

“Only a little.” He paused, then said, “I wasn't sure Peterson was the bloke for you, at first. But he clearly worships the ground you walk on.”

Laura made a face. “Oh, now.”

“He does,” Lewis said, patting her hand. “And I'm glad to see it. It's no less than you deserve, love.”

Laura squeezed his hand before releasing it. “I'm glad for you, too. You and James.” Standing, she leaned over and gave Lewis a kiss on the cheek. “Give him that one for me. And then you can take it from there.”

Lewis blushed again at that, and Laura chuckled as she wiped the trace of lipstick off with her thumb.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It took Lewis a couple of days to decide on a course of action, but once he did, he swiftly drew up his own set of plans. On Friday, his next rugby day, he took James aside after the match.

“Supposed to be hot as blazes again tomorrow and Sunday,” he said. “Have you got any plans?”

James shook his head. “More review,” he said, shrugging.

“I think you've earned a break from that, don't you?”

James frowned. “It's not so much a matter of earning. It's something I want to do.”

“Well, all right then,” Lewis said, “if you can't be parted from them, bring your books with you.”

“With me where?”

Suppressing the urge to check to see if any of the lads were watching, Robbie placed a hand in the small of James' back. “To Bournemouth. Thought I'd get away from the heat, and see if you wanted to join me.”

James stopped in his tracks, regarding Lewis with an expression he couldn't quite read. “That's very generous of you.”

Lewis took a step closer, until he had to tilt his head back slightly to meet James' gaze. “I wouldn't say that. After all, I could have ulterior motives.”

James' eyes widened. “Oh,” he said, drawing Lewis' attention to his lovely mouth.

“Can you have a bag packed in an hour?”

James was looking a bit stunned, but he had the presence of mind to nod mutely. _Surprised you, did I?_ Lewis thought, feeling more than a little smug. _Well, that evens the score, anyway._

“I'll pick you up at yours around four, then,” he said, and then he was heading for his car, trying to bite back his grin and failing miserably.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The gobsmacked look hadn't left James' face by the time Lewis arrived to pick him up, though there was no hesitation in the way he threw his bag in the boot of Lewis' car and folded his long body into the passenger seat. Briefly, Lewis considered asking him _are you sure?_ but he decided that James would tell him if this wasn't what he wanted.

The two hour drive to Bournemouth was pleasant enough. Their conversation was sparse, but that was mainly because James spent most of the time reading one of his textbooks, after asking Lewis' permission. ("If I can finish these three chapters, I can enjoy the rest of the weekend guilt-free," he'd told Lewis with a small smile, and Lewis had been powerless to resist.) He'd brought along his iPod and – through some witchcraft Lewis didn't understand – had hooked it up so that the music played through the car's speakers. Lewis had been expecting chamber music, but instead was treated to a variety of golden oldies, from early Motown to Cream, the Stones to Joni Mitchell.

“You been nicking my record collection?” Lewis asked.

James looked up from his book. “I may have made a note of your tastes,” he said, mouth curling slightly.

“Uh-huh,” Lewis said, holding his gaze for an extra moment before returning his attention to the road.

The inn was exactly as it had appeared on the website: comfortable, tasteful, on a quiet street opposite the Knyveten Gardens. After their hosts had left them alone, though, Lewis began to feel nervous, because James was standing in the middle of the room staring at the bed.

“Listen,” he began, “if this isn't what you want –”

James barked a surprising laugh, breaking out into a full-on grin as he lifted his gaze to Lewis. “It's a bit too much of what I want, actually,” he confessed. “You don't know how many schoolgirl fantasies I entertained back in the day about my guv'nor whisking me away for a dirty weekend.”

“Sounds pretty Mills and Boon for a Cambridge man,” Lewis said, returning James' unguarded smile. “Anyway, it isn't exactly a dirty weekend.” He waved a hand at the bed. “It's, well – it's whatever you want it to be. I don't want to rush you.”

James walked up to him, placed tentative hands on his shoulders. “I was afraid I was rushing _you_ ,” he murmured, “and then after that last case I wasn't sure how to start back up again. I began second-guessing myself, and before I knew it I was paralysed with indecision.”

Lewis slid his arms around James' waist, bringing them flush against one another. “Suppose we might have talked about it,” he said.

James snorted. “I've heard that's what most people do. It never seems to have caught on with us, though.”

“It should do,” Lewis said firmly. James' head jerked up, the frown this time a pensive one. “I'm flying blind here, lad. I need you to tell me if I'm cocking this up somehow. To tell me what you want, and what you don't want. And I'll do me best to tell you the same.”

James pressed his forehead against Lewis'. “Sounds reasonable when you put it like that.”

“I have my moments.” Lewis tilted his head up and brushed his lips against James'. James groaned and opened to him, taking Lewis' face in his hands and kissing him back. Lewis fancied he could taste his joy, which was a bit Mills and Boon as well, but no less true for it.

His own hands rose to James' collar, fingers clumsy on the buttons of James' short-sleeved shirt. James ducked his head and mouthed at Lewis' jaw.

“What about dinner?” James murmured, the vibration tickling Lewis' skin.

“It's early yet,” Lewis growled, shoving James' shirt off his shoulders and slipping his hands under James' t-shirt. James' belly was hot, the skin ridiculously smooth, hair only a faint prickle against Lewis' fingertips.

“God,” James breathed, wriggling out of his t-shirt and throwing it aside, attacking Lewis' shirt buttons with a desperate fervour. “Can I – I want to –”

Lewis shoved down his trepidation at the inevitable comparisons. “Yeah,” he managed, “yeah, you can –” Luckily, the rest of his babbling was lost in James' kiss, which left Lewis so addled that he didn't know precisely when his shirt fell to the floor, though he did notice when James leaned down and lapped hungrily at his nipple.

Lewis hissed air between his teeth, hands grasping at any part of James they could reach. When they settled on his bum, James moaned and lifted his head, staring right into Lewis' eyes, his expression as nakedly honest as Lewis had ever seen.

“Ah, lad,” Lewis murmured. How long had James been dreaming of this, of them? It staggered him, to think he was so much of what James wanted, and that he'd completely missed the signs. Some bloody detective he was.

James kissed Lewis softly, slowly. “No regrets,” he murmured against Lewis' mouth, reading his thoughts. “We're here now.”

Lewis pulled back and held James' gaze for a long moment, then placed his hand on James' belt buckle. James nodded, almost solemnly, and Lewis tugged it free, then started on his jeans. The backs of his fingers brushed against James' cock, and James shut his eyes and breathed sharply through his nose. Shocked at his own boldness, Lewis did it again, deliberately, pressing harder.

“Robbie,” James whispered. His hips jerked, helplessly. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Don't you dare be sorry,” Lewis said. Slowly, he slid James' jeans off his slim hips, then inched his fingers under the waistband of James' boxers. The hollows of his hips were like velvet under Lewis' thumbs. “You're lovely.”

James dropped his head to Lewis' shoulder, as though it were too heavy to hold up. Mindful of James' erection, Lewis rid him of his underwear, until James stood there trembling, his boxers and jeans pooled around his ankles, his breaths hot gusts against Lewis' shoulder.

“Come on, lad,” Lewis murmured, taking his hand and leading him to the bed, desire shot through with tenderness. “Get in, yeah? I'll just be a moment.” James obeyed, pushing back the covers and climbing onto the bed as Lewis drew the curtains. The sun was only beginning to sink towards the horizon, but the cool sea breeze was welcome on his overheated skin. When he turned back to the bed, he saw James watching him, his pale body a stark contrast against the chocolate brown sheets. Before self-consciousness could overwhelm him, he quickly shed his own trousers and underwear, then joined James on the bed.

There was a long, still moment when they both looked at one another, and then they reached out at the same time, James' hands going to Lewis' hair, Lewis wrapping an arm around James' back, drawing him in. James gasped into Lewis' mouth when their erections brushed together.

“James,” Lewis panted. “Can I –”

“Anything, you can do anything,” James rasped, his lips trailing over Lewis' chin, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

Lewis reached down between them and touched him, tentatively at first, then with more confidence when James groaned his name and shuddered. He worked a thigh between James' legs and rolled him onto his back, supporting himself on his other hand.

James' response was to wrap his legs around Lewis' hips and drag him down until they were rutting against one another, until Lewis' forehead was pressed to James' chest and James' arms were encircling him, holding on. “Robbie, Robbie,” James pleaded, and Lewis raised his head and kissed him and kissed him while he shook apart in the cradle of James' body, kept kissing him as James followed, his eyes wide and startled and terrifyingly honest.

Lewis disentangled himself and fell to the side just before his arm gave out. He seemed to recall, dimly, that it had been easier the last time he'd done this. Mind you, that didn't stop him from being stupidly pleased with himself.

Eyes closed, he could feel the mattress shift as James rolled away. There was the sound of tissues being pulled from a box, and then Lewis started at the feel of something tickling his belly. James was flushed, his gaze intent on the spot he was cleaning, though he glanced up as Lewis opened his eyes. “Sorry,” James murmured, “just – I made a bit of a mess.”

Lewis reached out to still James' hand. “ _We_ made a bit of a mess,” he corrected, “and I don't care.” He waited for James to look at him again before he added, “Do you?”

James shook his head. “No, I don't.” A small, tentative smile flitted across his face, and Lewis' heart thudded slowly against his ribs.

 _Is this it, then?_ Lewis thought. _Is this how it happens, simple as that?_

“C'mere, bonny lad,” Lewis said gruffly, one arm reaching around to tug him down. James obeyed without a word, fitting himself into Lewis' arms with more ease than Lewis would have expected for such a tall one.

They dozed for a little while, then rose sheepishly and stumbled about the room, alternating between picking up clothing and grinning foolishly at one another. After a shower that was more an excuse to snog lazily under cool water than an opportunity to clean up, Lewis buttoned James back into his shirt while James nuzzled Lewis' damp hair. And then Lewis took James' hand and led him out of the room and down the stairs and onto the street, where James looked down as if to prove to himself that Lewis was still holding his hand.

And Lewis decided he enjoyed suprising James almost as much as he enjoyed making him happy, though there was nothing better than managing both at the same time.


End file.
